


Prophetic Ruination

by Remo_Blitz



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Body mutilation, Caring Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Child Neglect, Clay | Dream & Technoblade Friendship (Video Blogging RPF), Dead Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Dead TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Depressed TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Floris | Fundy Angst, Floris | Fundy Needs A Hug, Fox Hybrid Floris | Fundy, Gaslighting, Gen, Ghost Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Ghost TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Graphic Description, Heavy Angst, Hunter GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Toby Smith | Tubbo, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid Floris | Fundy, Hybrid Wilbur Soot, I promise it's good, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Insane Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Insane Wilbur Soot, Karl Jacobs Needs a Hug, Lonely Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Long-Haired Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Manipulation, Mentioned Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF), Nightmares, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Out of Character Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Panic Attacks, Phil tries to be a good dad but fails horribly, Protective GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Karl Jacobs, Protective Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Wilbur Soot, Pyromaniac Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Ram Hybrid Toby Smith | Tubbo, Ranboo Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Sad Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Scared TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo-centric, TommyInnit Has Wings, Traumatized Tubbo, Villain Alexis | Quackity, Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Worried Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), dream and wilbur are siblings, phil isn't the best dad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:54:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29263113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remo_Blitz/pseuds/Remo_Blitz
Summary: With the implication of time travel, it's not too far off to assume there have been many other realities that our favorite characters have suffered through. I'd like to think this is one of them. Set three years after the fateful ending war of November 16th, this recollection of events is seen through the eyes of multiple, war-damaged people; broken ram hybrid, a damaged Enderman hybrid, a tormented deer hybrid, and many, many others who fell to the fate of the man with a constant smile.
Kudos: 12





	1. Questions

**Author's Note:**

> Tw // this fic will deal with heavy subjects, such as manipulation, gaslighting, abuse, death, thoughts of suicide, trauma, panic attacks, alcohol abuse, and murder. Even though the chances of me writing such topics in detail is unlikely, the possibility is still there, and I would very much rather ensure that you know what you're going to be reading

_I can still smell the rain in the air, as if the remnants of that fateful night want nothing more from me than to pull me in to reminisce further and further--to welcome me into an endless loop of never-ending thought. As much as I long for something as lulling as such, all I can remember is the aforementioned smell of rain, as well as a small bundle of innocence cradled by the corners of a damp cardboard box._

_The child was cold to the touch--memories of him flash by in my mind like the frames of a damaged film running itself through an antique projector. He didn't dare stir in my arms, which I then feared to have been a sign of hypothermia. I remember pondering on about how, perhaps if it wasn't for the intense chill and resulting aftermath for the boy, he could live a well-off life--with a caring family and all. His sleeping face, having only since been subjected to the steady hand of misery, begged for something more, for the warmth that radiated from love._

_This is where my memory of that night begins to fail me._

_I can easily recall picking the child up into my arms, along with replacing his soaked, thin blanket with my thick coat--bundling it around his body is an easy thing to recreate to near-accuracy; the vision of turning my head up and down the vacant village road comes so willingly, and yet my brain can't help but struggle when tasked with bringing to me anything else that would provide me with how I went from the back of a shadow-casted home to the chilled tundra, lands and lands over._

_My mind only serves more and more questions, nothing is on the menu that deals with any scheduled answers._

_I recall seeing a home in a clearing from the snowy forest the tundra lead me through, with smoke piping through a chimney opening--surely that meant there was someone occupying the area._

_Other than the seemingly cozy house I was gradually walking to, the boy had finally begun stirring in my arms. He gripped onto my coat that I now deemed to be his, a soft whine escaping his blue-tinted lips; I cupped my free hand around his small face and softly exhaled, trying to provide him with something more than the snow to wake up to._

_I left him at the front door of the house. He needed a stable family--not one that would constantly be moving around, leaving people and places behind._

_It was in front of the porch where I hid to make sure the child was taken in. The snow and darkness provided enough of a cloak that I'm sure whoever answered the door would think I was just part of the fencing. Even if they saw me and actively began advancing towards me, there was a high chance I could've just ran around the home and made a deadline towards the wood._

_Blinding light accompanied the sound of one of the wooden doors opening and, despite me having expected a person of adult height, I was instead greeted by the silhouette of a child--probably no older than that of a four year old. This child stood in the doorway for a moment. They stared at the wrapped up child before walking up to him and taking him into their arms. Even through the darkness, I could easily see a smile form on their little face._

_"Toby." They chuckled, turning their body back to head into the house. "I'm calling you Toby!"_

_I'm more than certain that moment was when I realized I had given the child a future to look forward to._

"What was it like?" A voice utters from the opposite end of a crafting table. "Finding Tommy's body."

The soft sound of an overflowing soup pot in connection with a crackling campfire served to act as the only responder to the question. Two pairs of eyes met in their owners' verbal silence--one having regretted the words as soon as they blossomed, and the other in a new situation where he couldn't feel anything other than a soft state of shock. 

"I..." the latter began, his breath hitching alongside the spike of adrenaline deep within his being. It was a difficult topic to think about--let alone discuss with someone as emotionally sensitive as the distant friend sat just across. He, Tubbo, cleared his throat in an attempt to bring himself back to the question, "Uh...it--it was...it's gotten easier to...deal with it. I--I'm sorry, why're you asking about him? Stir the soup, please; make yourself useful."

Silence once again befell the two. As the soup's boiling came to a light simmer from the wooden spoon's interaction, the stirrer placed the lid on the pot once more; he wiped at the constant tear streaks that all but refused to leave his face, "It's been two weeks, Tobes, and avoiding talking about him will only make it even more difficult to confront later on--"

"Yeah, well, maybe I want it to be difficult later on. You ever think of that?"

His face gently morphed into a form of concern, "You're in denial."

"No, I'm not--you're just being a fucking nuisance with it. It's getting annoying, really."

The pot began to boil over once more, as if it was containing a rising tension within the conversation that it couldn't handle any longer.

"I just want you to deal with what happened in a healthy way." His friend spoke softly, a soft jingling of trinkets and bottles along his belt moved in rhythm with his body. He wrapped his hands around the handles of the pot in order to relieve it of the anger that was the small, yet spitting, fire, careful to keep the feathers of his wings from catching. "So you can move on."

Tubbo wrapped twine tightly around the handle of his blade while in thought. He didn't want to admit he was right. The last thing he wanted to do was return to the moment he realized everything he had been working for was taken from him--that, maybe if he had just been there a few minutes beforehand, if he had stopped Dream as soon as they interacted on the path to the portal, maybe Tommy would still be alive. And that very thought tore Tubbo in two.

Dream had appeared so calm while they spoke briefly. He sounded as though he was in good spirits, even going as far as waving a goodbye after the talk was done with. Tubbo didn't even think to question him, since there wasn't any sort of indication as to what the green-clothed man was about to do. And yet he still blamed himself for not being able to stop what happened.

The way his friend's blood was still fresh amongst the morning dew on the blades of grass, how his once bright red wings now lay contorted beneath him, and how the terrified expression on his face still remained frozen in time. Tubbo had thrown up from the shock, and very well nearly passed out from the same reason. The person he spent his entire childhood with was now the very person whose funeral he prepared for on the spot.

Tubbo cleaned up the blood to the best of his abilities, having to end up using the green fabric he gave to Tommy as a means to stop the streaming slash across his friend's throat. 

The wings were another story. There wasn't a way for Tubbo to just simply bind them back together with simple bandages.

He spent the night desperately trying to stitch at least the flesh back together, humming softly to himself in the height of shock. It had felt like a nightmare--having to mend his best friend's body before getting a makeshift shovel to bury him as far from his death site as possible. 

After the ground had settled with the final pat of his stone shovel, Tubbo trekked across the land for thirty minutes in order to gather flowers for a grave. In the end, he gathered a rather large bouquet from both the grasslands and the nearby tundra.

Tubbo retrieved planks of wood. 

He worked his arms up with wrapping twine around two of the planks to form a structure resembling that of a cross. It looked more like a plus symbol, however, after Tubbo pushed it into the ground.

There was barely any room for Tommy's name, but Tubbo carved it in with a pocketknife nevertheless. 

The bouquet of flowers were separated into small groups based on what type they were. Tubbo grouped the sunflowers with sunflowers, poppies with poppies, and so on. He crafted some of the groups into small flower crowns that he could place on the arms of the cross--the others he simply placed around the grave.

Once he was done, the sun was already beginning to rise on a new day. Tubbo despised how loud the colors of the sky were on such a day, and yet he couldn't seem to conjure up any tears.

Tubbo drew in a shaky breath and closed his eyes, reopening them to have returned to the tiny campsite, sat at the crafting table while his friend began pouring the soup into a small bowl.

Shaking hands rested the ball of twine and the half-finished blade down, "I--I need to leave for a bit." 

He didn't stop to wait for a response. Tubbo stood from his position and walked through thick blades of grass to get away from the site. Anywhere else was better than having to stay there for another minute. He walked deep into the wood, a hollow feeling deep within, scolding him for not being able to cry for his friend-- _his best friend_.

Tubbo came across a riverbank that revealed the occasional fish, swimming around with the feel of the waves. He folded his legs beneath him to just watch the small creatures live without a care in the world. Did any of them have to bury their friend? Are fish even able to process the concept of death and burials? There Tubbo goes now, getting philosophical about fish.

Tubbo could feel a wave of cold brush against his back, and he immediately tensed.

"You know, when I say I need to leave, that usually also means to not follow me." Tubbo murmured, refusing to spare a glance to the one behind him.

A half loaf of bread came into his vision, "Though if you say that to me, I know that's a silent plead to follow and help."

Tubbo chuckled softly and took the bread. He tore a small piece off to throw it into the stream, watching in content as the fish swam to catch the food, "You're crazy, dude."

"Last I heard, crazy is absolutely in."

"Yeah. As if."

"I don't need no confirmation for what I already know, Tobes."

The two shared a soft laugh between themselves, and sat in a comfortable silence as both took turns feeding the now growing group of fish. Must've told their friends there was a buffet going on.

The friends continued the action until there was no more bread left to tear apart. His friend offered for a little dip in the water, but the last thing Tubbo wanted to do was swim when it was only a matter of time before the sun fully set over the canopy of the trees. 

Tubbo stood up, brushing off mud from the front of his legs. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, "We're going to have to leave in the morning. We've already spent too much time in one place--who knows where Dream's ended up already."

"We worry about that tomorrow, yeah? Tonight, you get some warm food in your stomach and sleep. I'll wake you up as early as you'd like then." He began walking back to the campsite alongside Tubbo, who appeared to have the smallest hint of a smile--the first smile in a long while.

"Thank you, Tommy."


	2. Ender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this work does contain graphic themes. This one will delve into body mutilation and graphic depictions of violence.

_Yesterday, I fell into a spiral of horrific emotional changes. I'm sure it was because of the rapid speed at which I've been traveling lately, however, the potatoes I ate some time during the Medieval period could also be a very valid contender._

_The moment I noticed my body was at the mercy of the vortex was when I was walking through a marketplace somewhere in a bustling village. People of different species and backgrounds were walking in every direction, vendors were shouting new prices for certain items while others hurried to bargain with willing enough people, and a few children here and there ran about, giggling blissfully in their own little worlds. It was refreshing, really. If I, for whatever odd reason, was suddenly able to control when and where I could travel to, I would without a doubt pick that specific market without another minute lost._

_The moment when I passed a vendor selling bundles and bags of a decent variety of fire candy among other things. I was relatively new to the concept of literal fire itself being harnessed by man for anything else other than for a heat aid, as a result, I paused for a moment to look over what he had to offer._

_"Good afternoon, pretty boy." He spoke through a lollipop that seemed to mimic the appearance of a cheap, thin cigar--he didn't look old enough to smoke, but did look like he would break that rule if he wanted to. "What can I do for you? We got dragon scales, coffee spice, bamboo straws--some mule bits, too, if you know what I mean."_

_The last bit seemed to humor him, but even now, I still don't have the faintest hint as to why the mule bits were so comedic._

_I rustled through my bag for any money I could gather, "Just some dragon scales. You take emeralds, right? Or diamonds?"_

_"Emeralds are just fine. Five for three scales, but I'll give you ten scales for six emeralds, yeah? I'm kind like that."_

_Thinking back on it now, I think the vendor was trying something. It didn't cross my mind then, however, given that I was much more occupied with looking at a person towards the back wall of the booth. Sat up against a pile of crates and burlap bags was a boy who wore a dirt-covered pale bandana, and a distant gaze on a flat, horribly bruised face. His being there affected me in some way, as, at that exact moment, gravity began to get the better of me._

_I couldn't pinpoint exactly why this boy tugged at all the sorrowful strings of my being--maybe there's something about him in my journal somewhere. If it was in the first few pages, then there's little to no hope, as those pages leading to the middle were ripped out. If by me, I can't recall._

_I remember the vendor's words having fallen upon my soundless ears; as my legs failed me and my body fell in turn, he abruptly stood from his place behind the counter. I collided with the body of a person who was quick to have helped me from meeting the ground. They held me for what could've been a few seconds or a few minutes--I can't seem to..._

_The person holding me up cautiously removed his hands only to have me fall once again. They caught me for the second time and had a brief conversation with the vendor; words collided together into indistinguishable strings of a wild void, and my consciousness joined the darkness as my mind clouded over._

_That's when I woke up here._

_In the person's home._

_I woke up to the warmth contained within a wool blanket and the comfort that my head received from a cotton-filled pillow. The person has provided me with a temporary solace due to my sudden trance, and I'm writing all of this down in order to remember the kindness of this stranger._

_His name is Ranboo. An energetic Enderman hybrid of unknown origin who seeks to help whoever he comes across that needs it, and his personality fits perfectly for someone of such soft actions. If I didn't know him, and even if he didn't serve me such a wonderful favor, I really would've found him quite sweet._

_I've quickly warmed up to him._

_He's tried his best to keep his humor reserved, and it's more than clear that he uses it as a mechanism of some sort to relieve stress. Ranboo seemed to have value my health over his own, as our first proper interaction was of him trying to stay awake at my bedside, a first aid kit in his hands and a glass of water on the bedside. I was out for an entire night, and he stayed up the entire time, saying he didn't want to accidentally wake me up by tending to my small injuries from past travels._

_I really hope to stay for at least a little while longer, since he's promised to get me a bag of dragon scales for the road._

The night was young, the sky was clear, and a young prince was in the process of reclaiming his throne.

It had been three years since he travelled too far from his home and ended up somewhere altogether unfamiliar, and he's decided it's finally time to make a return. Ranboo had no idea what the social climate would be like now in the End--hell, he didn't even know if the residents would rejoice his being or if they'd come to a unison and simply throw him back into the Overworld. Yet, even with the latter in mind, he would be satisfied if he even caught a glimpse at what his soul desperately longed for: home.

Ranboo gathered the supplies last night in preparation for the long journey ahead; he made sure to get the items needed in certain time intervals, as to avoid sparking any suspicion in his buying choices. Of course, most of it was done via Piglin trading, which proved to be much more efficient than the simple trading with villagers, as Piglins won't gossip about a sketchy bargain.

Slinging the strap over his head and resting the bag at his hip, Ranboo marched up his underground stairs to the main path of the Greater SMP. 

The paths were quiet, with only the strong visual hum of the glow stone being the main walkers amongst him. He couldn't have been more grateful to have been alone. Ranboo walked past dozens of small and large structures, glancing at some and staying willfully ignorant of others. One he couldn't just ignore was the small dip the path took over a small pond, just beside what remained of a Blackstone wall. Ranboo hadn't been there personally to witness the duel between Tommy and Dream, but he heard so much about it.

He remembered when he first entered the Overworld, and the first thing he did was give Tommy a flower--an allium. From then on, Tommy acted negatively towards him; then again, Tommy acted that way towards everyone. Ranboo heard stories of Tommy being one of the bravest children in the Overworld. He started an entire country, attended one too many wars, and died for everything twice. His second life was taken right where Ranboo was standing.

The hybrid tried to imagine himself in the child's boots, holding a bow with his back turned to Dream. It was ten paces, right? Then into the water Tommy jumped, shooting at Dream a few times before dying as soon as he resurfaced. The battle for independence was assumed lost, then the boy did something no one thought he could do. 

He gave the discs, his most prized possessions, to Dream in exchange for his country's independence.

Ranboo aspired to have Tommy's courage one day, and maybe even be his friend again once he came back from exile.

Dwelling on the past too much would only cause him pain, both emotionally and physically; it was best to forget the reason Tommy landed in exile. Crickets chirped, people moved on, and Ranboo resumed his trek back home.

A coarse conversation between a group of people drawing just up the path caused his adrenaline to spike. Ranboo quickly hid under the stairs leading over a hill, really wanting to avoid interacting with anyone in case someone snitched. The wood creaked overhead as the people passed in their own little chat bubble.

"If we don't find him by tomorrow, then we just have to assume that he's gone."

"But--gone where? There's no way he would just up and leave--that's not the Tubbo I know."

"And you didn't think your dad would blow up the entire fucking country, and apparently you knew him so well, too."

"Don't...don't talk about him like that."

"I can talk about him however I want. When Tubbo isn't in that chair, I'm the one you all fucking listen to. You don't ask questions, you only answer them, do you understand me, _Soot_?"

A silence fell between the two, their footsteps coming to a numbing silence.

"Yes, Sir."

"Good. I want the Army outside of Techno's as soon as possible. Gather the soldiers and prepare them for anything and everything; it should be an easy fight, but I don't want to take any chances."

"Will do, Sir."

After a few minutes of waiting for the return of the crickets' symphony, Ranboo was once again the only person on the path. He didn't know what was happening with the president or the people at his side, and he certainly wasn't going to stay around long enough to find out. He quickened his pace until he was no longer walking on wood, but rather on the soft ground that was dirt. How long he had been walking, Ranboo didn't know, but it was long enough that the lights he was once surrounded by were nothing but a speck in the distant--long enough that the moon was now straight up from his gaze. If he was going to do it, now was the perfect time.

Ranboo reached into his bag carefully and scooped out an Ender eye; he stared at it for a while, wondering if the creature whose eye it once was died peacefully. The hybrid raised his hand slowly, letting the eye float into the air and begin to guide him. 

The further he went, the brighter the stars became--mystical swirls of purples, pinks, and blues rested within a void that, by itself, would only bring fear and pain. Ranboo's tail flicked in content and excitement as the stars welcomed him to their domain. If there was one thing he was going to miss about the Overworld, it would, without a doubt, be the galaxies the people there took for granted.

The hybrid let another Ender eye hover from his hand, a chirp escaping him when it flew down into the ground.

He retrieved the shovel from his bag and hurried to dig, opting to create a staircase downwards as to avoid accidentally falling into the stronghold. He needed to be fast. Someone discovering his mission wasn't an option now--nor was failure.

Once his shovel began giving way at a thin layer of dirt seven steps deep, the sun was already beginning to rise. Ranboo drew in a deep breath before plunging the edge of the shovel's blade and allowing for his body to fall into whatever was below him. Thankfully, the universe was on his side, as his height provided him a rather sufficient means to avoid any injuries. Ranboo lit a torch to begin searching further for the portal.

There were a few mobs here and there, but nothing a sword couldn't solve. Silverfish, however, were a whole other story; if Ranboo had been in charge of the world, he would've gotten rid of silverfish as soon as the idea of them was proposed, and he was more than certain there were other people who would do the exact same.

After the routine of coming across dozens of dead ends and empty rooms, the hybrid beginning to wonder if the books he read had all lied to him. Perhaps there really wasn't a way to return home after all.

Ranboo wiped at his eyes--he couldn't cry, all that would do was cause him more pain.

He hesitantly brought out another Ender eye and sniffled, watching as it glimmered from the blaze rods set within it. He watched as the eye slipped from his fingers, as it floated and bounced against a vine-covered wall. Ranboo stared for a moment before approaching the wall and placing his hand against it; he gradually placed his weight after planting the Ender eye into his bag to ensure it stays safe.

Instead of it remaining as it was, the bricks parted and creaked open. A hidden door. Ranboo had the torch enter first, letting it illuminate the room before allowing his body to follow in suit.

There, glimmering from the flame he provided, was the End Portal.

Ranboo's tail was on another wavelength at that point. He quickly scanned the room for anywhere he could place his torch, opting for a little holder just to the right of the portal. He walked up the stairs to stare into the frame of the portal, absolutely entranced by the intricacies of it.

This was as close to home as he had ever felt.

The prince placed his bag on the stairs and quickly reached in, beginning to place Ender eyes into the holes. He reached well half-way through before the door behind him closed, causing a gust of wind to react and blow out the torch he set.

Ranboo chirped loudly out of fright, dropping an Ender eye and having it bounce down the steps.

The eye rolled across the floor until stopping once it came into contact with a leather boot.

"What do you think you're doing, Ranboo?" Dream spoke, his mask remaining as unwavering as a mask always was.

Ranboo chirped heavily, a soft chuckle leaving him as he stared at the cloaked man, "I...nothing. Nothing at all, yeah, was just passing through--saw this, thought it was pretty."

Dream stood still, unnervingly still, even for him. Ranboo carefully stood, walking down the stairs to get to the torch, "I'll leave, I promise. Just thought it was a very nice, uh, table! Yeah, a nice table!"

"You can't leave."

Ranboo's hand hovered over the wood of the torch. He turned back to the human, "What?"

"You...you can't leave."

"Dream. Dream, is everything okay?" Ranboo took the torch down and proceeded to relight it before moving towards Dream. The hybrid's breath hitched.

The fire illuminated Dream, enough to highlight a deep red crusted on his green clothes. Blood was still traveling from underneath his mask down his scarred throat, creating a pool of blood dead-center in his coat. His right hand held tightly onto a curved dagger, rich with dried blood stains matching the owner almost exactly.

Dream's mask was chipped, allowing for a slight opening near the left eye. Just beside the crack lay a smeared handprint, still in the process of drying. Dream seemed to wince at the light, lowering his head, "You can't leave." He repeated once again, voice wavering.

Ranboo was frozen at this point, tail wrapped around his right leg as his heart beat loudly in his ears, "Dream...what did you do?"

The hybrid didn't even stand a chance against the hunter. All he had was his height, but even then, he had no idea how to use that to his advantage. The cloaked man was still one moment, then active the next; dagger in hand, Dream shot towards Ranboo and drove the blade into his thigh, earning a loud shriek from the prince. When the dagger was retracted, Ranboo fell to his knees, breathing in heavily, "Dream--Dream, please--what are you doing--"

The torch fell to the floor, catching the vines along the wall aflame.

Dream tangled his hands in Ranboo's hair and lifted his head up. The prince caught a split second of a white eye from the chipped opening in the mask, widened and bloodshot, "I'm keeping this land safe, Ranboo. And, frankly, I really really really think you're putting everything I've built up--everything I've sacrificed--in jeopardy."

He raised the blade to Ranboo's face, "Every part of you...is going to end up being the death of my work."

"Dream...don't--"

"I--I need to get rid of you...even if it means...brick by brick." Dream lined up the point of the blade with Ranboo's green, tear-stricken eye.

He gasped, "Dream!"

"Ranboo!"

The hybrid chirped softly, raising his head just slightly while breathing erratically. He was in darkness. The void he had once admired deeply was part of him eternally, and it had been for a long while now. A firm hand on his shoulder and a soft material against his head was the only indication that there was someone else there with him physically; Ranboo hadn't even registered the voice until it spoke again, "Ranboo, breathe for me. Breathe."

He held on tightly to whoever was holding him. What had happened? He was in the stronghold--he was at the mercy of Dream--where was he now?

"Phil..."

The person let out a heavy breath and appeared to relax, "Yeah...yeah, Ranboo. It's me, it's Phil." he chuckled softly. "I thought I lost you there for a sec. Just--just stay there, yeah? Stay there"

Ranboo could feel something in his hand, which he held onto tightly without thinking for a second about what it could be. The object felt wooden and long, with a leather wrapping towards the end--the handle of a sword? No, the wood was too long to be a sword handle. Ranboo tapped it against the ground, his breath catching for a moment.

It was a cane.

Moving the cane around, Ranboo could hear it moving against blades of grass--a tree, when he moved it too far left. Was he in a forest? Ranboo moved it right, hitting something and earning a yelp from Phil, "I'm going, I'm going--be patient." He laughed.

Phil carefully moved the cane away and ran his hand along it until he was at Ranboo's side once again, "You hit your head against a root when you fell. I'm just gonna apply some medicine and a bandage to your head, okay? Three, two, one."

The injury stung softly from the disinfectant, but it wasn't anything Ranboo couldn't handle.

"There. Good as new." It sounded as though Phil was smiling. "I think we should head back to the base, right? We've been gone far too long."

Ranboo nodded softly. He ran his hand over the bandage on his temple and on the tear scars embedded in both cheeks. He would've felt the holes where his eyes should be, but he would rather ignore them as much as he could.


End file.
